


Dude, I Love You

by Anonymous



Category: Captain Underpants Series - Dav Pilkey, Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie (2017)
Genre: A bit of angst because I apparently can't help it, Boys being emotional and having serious conversations, Bromance, Coming out (sort of), First Crush, Gen, M/M, Many allusions to past and future events of my own invention as well, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mostly based on the movie but contains a few references to elements from the books, Not very CU-like at all I'm afraid, Other, Preteen beginning to question his orientation, Probably overly dramatic as well, School Dance, Secret Crush, Set two years after the movie, Sixth grade graduation coming up, Slightly AU I guess, The story in which the boys meet their future selves and their families has not happened, The whole thing is pretty mushy, Touchy-feely best friends, Your teeth might rot a little, sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 06:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13405677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: As the sixth grade graduation party approaches and with it the end of elementary school, Harold grows aware of new feelings he doesn't quite understand and fears George's reaction. Meanwhile, the latter worries about his best friend's strange behavior and tries to understand what's eating him.





	Dude, I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings, people of AO3! So, I finally watched the _Captain Underpants_ movie (better late than never) and I must say I liked it more than I expected to. I had no intention of writing fanfiction about it, because I knew that my rather angsty, descriptive style wouldn't suit the fast pace and the light humor of the source material at all, and yet here I am, for better or worse. After finding out that Harold had a husband, in a future that takes place in the twelfth book, and that some (more) libraries had banned the already unfairly criticized series for that reason, this little scenario popped into my head and practically wrote itself without my permission.
> 
> The boys are in the sixth grade here, because according to the Wiki page I consulted, Jerome Horwitz Elementary is apparently K-6, but since I'm not sure, picturing them slightly younger or older should work just as well if some of you are more familiar with a different grades system. The plot revolves around the fact that some elementary schools organize dances and sometimes even some kind of mini prom near the end of the final year for the graduating students, but the grades and traditions appear to vary widely from one school to another even inside Ohio and many things keep changing over the years, so I may have allowed myself to take some liberties.
> 
> I had initially rated this T just to be eeeextra careful, but I decided to change it to G because, quite frankly, given the character's age here (around twelve), there wasn't going to be anything more than some very mild thematic elements to justify that, as indicated in the tags. It's basically just some pretty innocent dialogue and there won't be any actual pairing (sorry), but I suppose that those who aren't comfortable with the subject matter might still prefer to skip this one.
> 
> By the way, the title is from Andy Grammer's song, "A Friend Like You", which plays during the end credits of the movie. It's so catchy and heartwarming, I had it stuck in my head for days!
> 
> © _Captain Underpants_ belongs to DreamWorks Animation and Dav Pilkey.

Fridays were the best. As far as school days went, at least, which is to say that they were only tolerable because they were so close to the perfect freedom that came with Saturdays.

This one had started off like any ordinary Friday, with just a classic whoopee cushion prank on the teacher to alleviate the monotony of beginning the day with English class, and the afternoon had been unfolding in much the usual, predictably boring to death fashion, only currently interrupted by a long announcement on the intercom from the student council regarding upcoming activities.

Deprived of his favorite desk neighbor and partner in crime again this year, Harold yawned for what must have been the hundredth time that day and resumed his observation of the big-butted spider that had been decorating the nearest window with an impressively intricate web for the past hour or so. It had eight legs, he noted, all coming up from underneath the cephalothorax and bending back down to spread gracefully all around its thick body.

Harold stopped spinning his pencil ribbed with chew marks and attempted to capture the arachnid's general shape as seen from different angles, intent on making sure he would get the anatomy right the next time he drew something that resembled one. Creatures with more than four limbs were tricky to give a realistic appearance to.

Once satisfied with his sketches, he moved to a blank corner of the exercise sheet he was using as an impromptu canvas to start working on a completely different subject. The silhouettes of two human characters standing side by side progressively took shape, the one on the left sporting a flat top and tie, and the other one a big bushy mop of curly hair.

When the time came to refine the figures' crudely outlined limbs, the pencil wavered, lingering momentarily over their adjoining hands, before darting across the paper with newfound purpose to lock them together. Harold pulled back to contemplate his work, a curious longing rising in him the longer he stared at it.

He realized with a start that he must have gotten lost in thought again when the voices of his classmates rose up in various degrees of lamentation and outrage. Reflexively covering his drawing with both hands, he raised his head to see the overwhelming list of page numbers to finish as homework that was being written on the board. Seized by a sudden fear that somebody would notice his drawing and question him about it, he grabbed the large eraser on the corner of his desk and hurriedly wiped away all evidence of the incriminating final touch, in order to replace the characters' interlaced hands by an improvised brofist.

-

All of Harold's books were closed a good three minutes before the end of math class, except the notebook in which he had been pretending to solve equations, while actually sketching ferocious robotic sharks being defeated by a small army of laser-eyed dolphins in suits of armor. The second the bell rang, he was up and already bolting out of the classroom as if all the oxygen had been locked outside. However, instead of following the flow of excited children toward the main doors, he rounded a corner and went to sit on what he was quite certain must have been the coldest, hardest, straightest metal bench ever manufactured, legs kicking as his eyes scanned the rushing crowd.

The hall was already half-empty by the time the person he had been waiting for finally came running down the corridor to join him at their usual meeting spot.

"Sorry, Mr. Mark kept us late again," the newcomer apologized. Harold got up and George leaned on his arm for support as he caught his breath. "Man, I thought class would never end!"

"I know the feeling. Miss Andry also has a way of making time seem like it passes ten times slower than normal. It feels like I haven't seen the sunlight for a whole week!"

"Hey, that would make a pretty cool supervillain power!" George remarked brightly. "I say we should totally add this into the next issue of _Barb-Bra the Brave_. Coming soon to a playground near you: The Horrendous Torture of Dr. Fartastic's Inexplicable Time-Slowing Abilities!"

The newly inspired writer's hand moved in a grand gesture to paint the invisible title across the air. His equally imaginative illustrator grinned at the scene he could easily picture over the depressing asylum green of the wall.

"Idea approved! I must say once more, the way you draw inspiration from everyday life and manage to convert that into such brilliant plotlines never ceases to amaze me, Mr. Beard," Harold complimented sincerely.

"But those ideas can only take shape as your masterful pencil brings them to life, Mr. Hutchins," came the equally heartfelt response.

The school had been mostly deserted by now. The boys stopped by their locker—they had been assigned different ones, but had successfully persuaded their randomly designated partners to switch—to retrieve whatever items they needed for the week-end, then exited through the front doors and followed the path to the street in companionable silence. The trees were still bare, but the weather had gotten pleasantly warm and it was only a matter of weeks before the scenery would once again don the characteristic green mantle announcing the much awaited summer break, and with this one the end of elementary school. It felt weird to think that the seemingly endless cycle they had known for more than half of their lives would no longer be repeating itself, or at least not in that particular prison they had come to know as well as their own homes. Not that either of them would miss the place; it merely felt a little unsettling, this slight shift in their universe bringing them one step closer to independence.

Once they reached the sidewalk, instead of hopping onto his skateboard as he usually did, George shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts and kept going on foot. Mildly intrigued by the change of routine, Harold merely slung his school bag behind his back and followed him wordlessly.

"So," George spoke eventually, "we finally have an official day for the graduation party."

Harold's pace suddenly faltered and, when he recovered a second later, he had to walk faster to catch up with his companion.

"We do?"

All finishing students had known for a while that a special event would be held at the end of the school year to mark their upcoming passage to middle school, but so far, the details had been vague.

George shook his head softly and his smile grew fond. "Sounds like _somebody_ was busy working on some new artwork I can't wait to see when they announced it after lunch. Though in your defense, I'd been dozing off myself till the intercom made me jump about two feet high."

"You got me," Harold admitted without a trace of remorse. Another form of uneasiness did however hit him as he recalled the mushy drawing he had done on a strange impulse. Trying to ignore the way his stomach clenched, he settled for a half-truth and a change of subject. "Nothing worth seeing, though, I'm afraid; they were pretty much just practice doodles for creature reference. What did I miss?"

If George found his reply evasive, he did not call him out on it. "Nothing all that important aside from the time and place. They mostly talked about stuff like the food and what games they're planning, and then they lost me when they moved on to the rules and the dress code."

Harold had not yet given the event much thought. Any kind of special activity, although organized by the killjoy establishment, was still a thousand times better than the regular schedule. They were the only occasions where the fun-loving boys did not actively hate school. They were unfortunately structured and supervised in ways that allowed very little freedom. As usual, he and his accomplice would have to find clever ways to bypass surveillance so they could have some real fun.

"Any idea who you're going with?"

"Huh?" The sudden question had drawn Harold out of his thoughts and he only had a puzzled look to respond with.

"The school dance. It's not exactly the famous Prom, but they said it's semi-formal. I hear that means we gotta wear Sunday clothes and pretend we're on some kinda date."

Harold could think of no logical reason why his heart would suddenly start beating so fast, making his head spin. He could only wonder in confusion and, by doing so, worsen his state, which was definitely not helpful.

"I haven't quite made up my mind yet," George went on, "but I'm considering Laura. Remember her? Long black hair, she used to sit with us in art class, back when we still had one or two tolerable subjects."

"Yeah, I remember," said Harold with a degree of enthusiasm nearing absolute zero. The girl had been pleasant company and a surprisingly talented painter as well. She had given the boys a few useful tips on how to improve their gouache technique and Harold had later returned the favor by helping her refine her contour lines on the character design project. He now recalled George being quite impressed by the result. The two had spent the rest of that class talking about some picture-less book that Harold had not read.

"Well, what d'you think? We haven't really spoken much outside of school, but she seems pretty cool. She's bought every single issue of our comics since grade 4, so she must have a good sense of humor. Plus, she's kind of an artist and a big reader too, so at least we'd have something to talk about. You think I should go ahead and ask her?"

Harold merely shrugged. The gesture went unnoticed since George was looking down the road ahead, so he mumbled, "Maybe."

He saw the other boy's eyebrows knit together at his flat tone. George slowed down and glanced at him over his shoulder.

"Hey, everything alright?"

"Sure, I'm fine, why?"

"You don't seem so fine to me. Was it something I said? You were all there just a minute ago, but since I mentioned Laura, it's like you..." George trailed off as some realization dawned on him and he stopped dead in his tracks. "It's about her, isn't it? I should have thought of that."

" _What?_ " Harold found himself squeaking, taken aback by the unexpected turn the conversation was taking.

George swiveled around to face him. A younger kid who also happened to be on his way home from school quickly passed between the two without sparing them a glance.

"It's not the end of the world, Harold. These things happen. We'll find a way around this."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Harold stammered, hoping that his suspicions regarding what George thought he had figured out were wrong.

"She's the one you had in mind too, huh?" Apparently taking Harold's stunned silence as confirmation, George grabbed his shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Look, it's okay. I won't let something as trivial as a school activity compromise our friendship. We'll just... I don't know, maybe settle that with rock-paper-scissors? Or if you really wanna go with her that bad, I can always find somebody else. It's not like we're picking our future spouses or anything."

His attention having shifted to his shoes, Harold discovered that a colony of ants had taken residence alongside the sidewalk crack he was currently standing on.

"No, it's... it's not about Laura," he said, a bit too sullenly to sound convincing to his own ears. He shifted his feet so as not to crush the tiny bugs. "You can go with her if you want to."

"You sure? What's up, then? Anything I can help you with? You know it'll be my pleasure if you need a hand to make your demand smoothly."

George supported that affirmation by throwing a playful wink at Harold, who was alarmed to feel his cheeks flare up. That had been happening a lot lately, apparently out of nowhere, and it was getting quite embarrassing. Fortunately, his friend seemed oblivious to his problem so far.

"Ah, thanks for the offer, but I don't think I'll go."

" _WHAT?!?_ " George's grip on Harold's upper arms tightened and he shook him lightly. "Come again, 'cause I didn't just hear that."

"Well, I mean it's just dancing, nothing all that exciting really..."

"Dude, you can't be serious. You _have_ to come! There's gonna be pizza and rotating lights and a DJ! It would be a crime not to seize the occasion to swap the official playlist for our toilet sounds recording."

Harold smiled wistfully at the thought of what a great opportunity for some good laughs it would be indeed.

"Come on," George insisted. "It's our final year at Jerome Horwitz and that might be the last time we'll get to see all of our comrades who have endured those long, trying years with us, before we lose sight of half of them. It'll also be our best chance to pull major pranks on all of our teachers at once! Think of all the good lifelong memories you'd miss!"

"I don't know. I need to think about it," said Harold, still doubtful but left pensive by his friend's passionate exhortation.

"Why wouldn't you wanna go?" George finally released him. "You normally enjoy parties as much as I do. Is there some reason I don't know about? You know you can tell me anything."

The concern discernible in George's voice made things simultaneously easier and harder. On one hand, Harold really wanted to confide in him like he did for most things, but on the other hand, the fear of how his best friend might react to the latest developments petrified him.

They had almost made it to their neighboring houses at that point. Harold cast a nervous glance around and waited for a lady walking in the opposite direction to pass them by.

"Maybe later. I've got... some stuff to do first."

"Okay..." George agreed with a skeptical expression. "See you in the treehouse after supper, then?"

"Sounds good."

They walked the short remaining distance in silence. Harold offered a small, thin-lipped smile before heading for his front door, conflicted over how much he should tell George. He had not meant to worry him, but for the moment, he needed some time alone to think.

* * *

The early evening sun was painting the sky golden when George went to the treehouse. The old tattered dinosaur-themed bed sheet that served as a door curtain had been drawn aside and, as he reached the top of the ladder, a familiar hand caught his to haul him up the rest of the way.

"You been here long?" he inquired.

"A little while. I wasn't very hungry."

Harold dropped down onto the teal bean bag he often occupied between two drawing sessions to review the writer's drafts and rough sketches. George dragged a small stool across the room to sit close to him.

"What's going on? You've got me worried. Whatever's been bothering you, I promise not to tell a soul."

"I'm sure you won't and I appreciate that." Harold sounded confident, although his hands kept fidgeting and gripping the hem of his shirt. "You know I trust you more than anyone. It's just... I've had some things on my mind and I'm afraid they'll make you see me differently."

"Harold, I don't know what that big dark secret of yours has to do with, but nothing you say or do could make me think any less of you, and I know the same goes for me. We're like family, you and I, and that's for life." After a beat, George smirked and elbowed Harold's side teasingly in an attempt to lighten up the mood. "Well, we _might_ be in trouble if you announced me you've officially decided to join the serious side, but even so, I'm sure we'd find a way to make everything alright like we always do."

He was relieved to detect a spark of amusement in Harold's eyes as they lingered on him, before they moved to follow the orange sunrays across the wooden floor.

"You're right. Anyway, I couldn't keep anything from you for long, even if I wanted to." Their eyes met again and George smiled at his friend encouragingly, folding his hands in his lap in an attitude of attentive listening. "I guess it's just, with this whole promotion thing coming up, it got me thinking and it's made me realize things. Like, we're supposed to act all gallant and invite a girl to the dance, and I try to think of it as practice for the kind of things I'll be expected to enjoy doing as an adult, but to tell you the truth, I'm not feeling it, like, at all. Even though it's just make-believe, I can't... I mean, it would be weird."

"What do you mean, 'weird'?"

"I'm not sure why, but the whole idea just feels off. Not just the party, I mean, stuff like wanting to have a girlfriend. When I think of all the girls I know at school, I guess some of them could make pretty good friends... Not that I need more as long as you're there, but the thing is, I'd much rather..." Harold drew a shaky breath and seemed to brace himself before dropping the bomb. "I think I'm just not really... into girls," he finished tensely.

George blinked. His eyes darted from his friend to the fiery sky outside and back as he waited for him to continue, but no further dark revelations came.

"That's all?" he finally said, careful to keep a neutral tone.

Harold gave a wary nod, his expression grim. It almost looked as though he were sitting in principal Krupp's office and expecting to be informed that he was to repeat his sixth grade all alone.

"Well, I don't see anything wrong with that," said George, hoping to reassure him. "I mean, we're still a bit young to be seriously thinking about girls anyway. All that dressing up nice and dancing stuff's just a formality invented by nostalgic parents who think it's cute to make us act like they did in high school. It doesn't actually mean anything. You know, I think Laura's alright, but I don't _like_ -like her. At least, I don't think I do. Who knows, maybe give it a couple years..."

The slight scowl that had begun creasing Harold's forehead noticeably deepened at that. "That's not what I'm saying, George. I don't think time will change that for me. I can already tell, because..." Interrupting himself abruptly, he dragged both hands down his face and exhaled sharply. "Forget it. I shouldn't have brought this up. Let's just delete this whole conversation, okay? What do you say we spend the rest of the evening catching up on this week's projects? Or we could revisit old ones for a change. I actually feel inspired to finally finish _Sad Worm_."

He had said that in a way that could easily have been mistaken as carefree, but that would not deceive someone who had known him for the larger part of his life. As he moved to slide out of his seat, George leaned over to catch both of his hands and held them firmly in his, effectively keeping the blond boy glued in place.

"Harold, I don't mind you thinking you might prefer boys, if that's what you've been trying to tell me." His eyes searched his friend's. "Is that it?"

The sight of Harold biting his bottom lip and averting his gaze yet again was all the confirmation he needed.

"Hey, it's fine. I didn't see what you were getting at right away, but I promise I'm okay with that."

Harold's eyes traveled from their joined hands up to George's earnest face and he let out a heavy breath, his posture relaxing visibly, though only slightly.

"So," George tried casually, "I guess that means we'll have to find a dashing young man to accompany you instead."

He jumped to his feet, pulling his friend up with him before finally letting go of his hands. Harold said nothing.

"Dude, being this quiet doesn't suit you. Cheer up! We still got plenty of time to work something out. I'm sure there must be a few acceptable candidates in our grade."

The mumbled reply he did get this time vaguely sounded like a failed attempt at mastering the alien language they had invented for one of their recent outer space adventure comics.

"What was that?" George tilted his head close to hear better, to no avail. "Were you suggesting Melvin? 'Cause I'll bet you anything he's free," he joked, wiggling his eyebrows. "Unless he's planning to bring along some holographic companion project we haven't heard of yet."

"Get out." Harold shoved him toward the door in mock indignation, but proved unable to keep the warmth from tinting his voice as the hint of a smile quirked his lips. He went to stand at the window, resting his elbows on the sill as he looked outside. The sun was quickly disappearing beyond the horizon and a few stars were already shimmering discreetly in the blue-green sea above.

"Seriously though," George persisted as he came to stand next to him, his expression fittingly sobering up, "don't worry about it. You know it doesn't change anything, right?"

Harold looked unsure but stayed quiet.

"By the way, my offer to be your wingman still stands. I can test the waters for you in my class, if you want."

"Thanks, George, but I'm still not sure I should go."

"Aww, why not?" cried George, arms flailing around as if to emphasize the absurdity of such a statement. "Who cares what others might think? If anyone's got something to say about it, I'll show them to mind their own business!"

There was something very tender in the way Harold's eyes softened at his protective outburst. Whether from bullies or from the darkest parts of his own unbridled imagination, George had always been quick to defend him and to appease his fears whenever they grew out of proportion. He was usually able to bring back Harold's cheerful mood easily enough, but this time was beginning to look like the exception to the rule.

"I have no doubt that you would," said Harold gratefully. "I don't mind the risk of getting weird looks all that much, though."

"Then what's the problem?" George was trying to be understanding, but it was getting increasingly difficult not to let his exasperation show too much. Just as he had thought they were finally over the issue, there now appeared to be some other reason for Harold's reluctance to take part in the event and they were back to the beginning. "Just tell me and I'll do anything in my power to make you change your mind, even if I have to resort to summoning back Captain Underpants. I'm not letting you miss the graduation party without a reasonable motive. Won't you do it for me? It won't be nearly as much fun without you there."

Harold looked like he wanted to protest some more, but the puppy-dog eyes that George fixed on him appeared to be effective, for instead he let out a long, defeated sigh. "Well, if it's that important to you, I guess I _could_ always tag along, but wouldn't that make me the third wheel? I'd feel like I was intruding and that wouldn't be fair to Laura, or whoever you end up going with. Nobody wants to feel neglected at a party they've been invited to. Based on my studies, girls put a lot of effort into looking pretty and the whole socializing part seems very important to them."

"Hmm, maybe you're right," George conceded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "but my having to accompany her doesn't mean we gotta be strangers. After all, you'll have your own date to entertain. Don't you think it would be more fun to all hang out together? That way, we could both excuse ourselves later and let our companions chat between themselves while we go set up the pranks!"

"For that, I'd have to find a guy who wouldn't mind being seen with me the whole time."

That made George frown, though purely out of concern. "Don't you sell yourself short, Harold." He gently seized his companion's forearms to turn him around so that they could fully face each other and held on. "Listen to me: you're an awesome, creative, adventurous, hilarious guy with a heart of gold. Plus, you're a crazy talented artist full of potential and the most loyal friend anyone could dream of. I think you couldn't be any more amazing and I'm well placed to know, 'kay? If just given a chance to spend a little time around you, there's no doubt somebody's bound to appreciate all of that as much as I do."

Even in the fading reddish glow, George could have sworn that Harold's cheeks were turning pink. Then again, he reasoned, neither of them was used to receiving compliments. Qualifiers commonly attributed to the hyperactive duo usually included words like turbulent, loud, lazy, rude, distracted, disruptive, infuriating, insufferable and countless variants every bit as negative.

"I mean it," added George softly when he got no reaction at all. "I'm sure there's a nice guy out there who's just waiting for you to invite him. Haven't you thought of anyone at all?"

Harold blinked rapidly, as though shaken out of a daze. "Umm, I... uh, kinda did," he confessed hoarsely, "but that's not happening."

"And why the heck not?" George took a step back to cross his arms in mild annoyance at his friend's stubbornness.

"George, what if I told you..." Harold's voice had dropped to barely more than a whisper. "What if there really was just one person I wanted to go with, but he was off limits?"

"I don't know, what makes you so sure the guy won't pick you if you haven't asked him?"

Harold stared at him gravely for a moment, before his eyes shifted sideways. The tip of his shoe absently kicked the head of a nail that was sticking out of the planks. "That wouldn't be a good idea."

"Why? Is he already taken?"

"He's got his mind set on someone," said Harold, sounding dispirited.

"But he hasn't invited them yet!" George countered triumphantly. "So there's still hope."

"Not if it's a girl he wants!"

"It doesn't matter." Although the odds were indeed not looking very good, George was trying to stay positive. "Maybe he's just settling for whoever seems to be a logical choice. He might change his mind knowing how much it means to you. I think you should talk to him."

"I can't. This isn't just about the party. I think I actually... _like_ him." Harold shut his eyes and shook his head. "There's too much at stake."

"Well, you can't expect him to read your mind!" retorted George, who was growing desperate. "If you don't try, you're sure to lose your chance to somebody else. What's the worst that could happen? He can't get mad at you just for asking. Who knows, he might actually say yes!"

"Would you?" Harold blurted out, hands immediately flying to his mouth as though in a fruitless attempt to stuff the words back in. He quickly rectified, "If-if I were to ask you, that is, which I'm... definitely not, 'cause I know you've already chosen someone, and you wanna go with a girl anyway, and you'd probably be weirded out, considering how long we've known each other, and it would be crazy to risk it all just for a stupid school dance, and I'm just gonna shut up now."

A tense silence fell over the treehouse and, for a moment, the only noticeable sign that time had not stopped entirely was the gentle howl of the wind through the branches all around.

"Oh," George finally let out awkwardly. "Y-you mean...?" He scanned Harold's face for any indication that he had misunderstood him, without truly expecting to find any. He could think of nothing more helpful to do than just stand there. "Wow, uh..."

Harold's shoulders drooped and he turned away, muttering, "I knew this was gonna end badly."

"Wait, Harold!" George's hands instinctively shot up as though to try and stop him. "Please, don't leave. I'm sorry, I just don't know what to say!"

"You don't have to say anything. It's no one's fault that I feel this way and you don't."

Harold shuffled to the old hammock hung alongside one of the walls and flopped down limply onto his back, an arm coming up to cover his eyes.

"I just... I need a moment to process all of this. I had no idea." George took a few tentative steps toward the still form of his friend, a hand nervously rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, to me, you're like the brother I always wanted. I guess I assumed it was the same for you."

"It is! Or it used to be," Harold said without moving a muscle. "I've felt the same way ever since I met you, but lately I... I don't know where that came from, I can't explain it. All I know is you're still my best friend and I'm really scared of ruining that."

George felt his heart twist painfully in the face of his friend's anguish. He instinctively reached out, like they both did all the time as comforting gestures between close friends, but his hand uncharacteristically wavered and halted mid-way, hovering above the striped shoulder in front of him. Harold, who had caught the motion from the corner of his eye, lowered his arm to glower at the retreating hand.

"See, this is what I was worried about," he said bitterly. "Now that you know, everything's gonna be awkward. You'll avoid touching me and be overly careful not to hurt my feelings; I'll feel self-conscious all the time and refrain from saying anything that might unsettle you. We'll try and pretend that nothing's changed, but there will be a wall between us that'll only grow harder to reach over with time. We'll keep seeing each other for a while without really sharing much of what's really on our minds anymore. Soon we'll find ourselves spending less and less time together and, before we know it, we'll start coming home from school our separate ways and seeing other people on week-ends. You'll eventually join the school's writers' club for lack of anything better to do and you'll end up redirecting your talent into writing sci-fi novels on your own, while I'll most likely be recruited by some wannabe rock band in need of a logo who'll somehow convince me that wearing a beanie indoors is brilliant. I'll get bullied without you to get me out of trouble, like the first day of kindergarten all over again. Maybe I'll even get suspended for leaving graffiti under a staircase in a moment of despair! The comics will stop, our neglected treehouse will fall apart, and when the zombie apocalypse happens, we'll barely be in touch anymore!"

As the distraught boy's voice rose up and his wild gesticulations increased proportionally to his panic level, George watched with an apprehensive sort of fascination, torn between wanting to stop his alarmist train of thought before it got out of hand and letting him finish voicing his fears so he could get them off his chest.

"Our families will be scattered among the city in ruins with no more means of communication. When they find me, you won't be around to shout, 'WATCH OUT, BEHIND YOU!!' and one of them will manage to bite me! I'll turn into a mindless monster and then we'll unexpectedly bump into each other again in the midst of all the chaos, only for me to try to eat your brains, 'cause by that time I won't even recognize you anymore—"

"Wait, wait, hold on," George interrupted at last with a raised hand before things could get any more overdramatic. "Don't you think you might be exaggerating a bit? What do zombies even have to do with anything?"

"I don't know!" Harold threw up his hands. "It's bound to happen sooner of later, whether from a widespread infection or resuscitation research gone wrong. I guess what I'm trying to say is, it won't be the same between us anymore and I..." His voice cracked and, in the dimming light, George could see his eyes glistening more than they should. "I don't want us to drift apart because of this. I couldn't stand it."

The distress in his voice was too much for George, who could feel his heart breaking and overflowing with affection for his dearest friend. Without hesitation this time, he kneeled down beside the occupied hammock.

"C'mere," he said, and when Harold sat up uncertainly, George wrapped his arms tightly around his neck. After a brief moment, he felt the comforting pressure on his back as the hug was returned just as wholeheartedly.

"There's no way we're ever gonna let that happen," George promised, hoping he sounded as confident as he felt. "Not after all we've been through together. Remember how our sense of humor and our passion for monster stories instantly drew us toward each other when we were just little kids, and it's gotten us through all those boring classes over the years. Our combined talents somehow gave life to a real-life superhero who saved us from professor Poopypants' evil scheme to eradicate laughter! If we managed to get into all kinds of trouble together and to come out fine, and if we even survived being put in separate classes without drifting away, I say it's gonna take a whole lot more to come even close to breaking our friendship, am I right? Besides, I could never bear the thought of losing sight of you like that. You're like, the most important person in my life and I wouldn't give you up for the world."

"I'm so relieved to hear you say that," came Harold's muffled voice as his face disappeared into the other boy's shoulder, his hold tightening further even as the tension finally left his body entirely. "You really do have a way with words and not just as an author. You always seem to know exactly what I need to hear."

"So... you're fine with keeping things as they are?" For the first time since the whole issue had arisen, George felt a hint of insecurity creeping up on him. "You think my friendship's gonna be enough in the long run?"

Only slightly loosening his hold, Harold raised his head to look at him. "It's already more than I could ask for. I honestly couldn't have hoped for a better friend than you, George."

They stayed that way a little longer, until George finally pulled back to speak again with renewed heartiness. "You know what, I've got an idea but you gotta let me know how you feel about it, 'cause the last thing I want is to make things harder on you. I won't be offended if you'd rather not."

Harold only looked at him questioningly, which caused George's gaze to dart away a little bashfully.

"Okay, so about that graduation thing... Well, I'm thinking, we're making a big fuss out of it, but it's really just about celebrating the end of elementary school with friends and having fun, right? It doesn't have to be all serious and complicated if we don't want it to. So... what would you think of going with me, even if it's just as besties?"

A soft gasp betrayed Harold's bewilderment as he sat up perfectly straight now, gaping at his friend.

"But George, what about Laura? You were gonna invite her."

George shrugged. "Only because I'd assumed we'd both be going with girls to do like most of the other kids. I haven't asked her yet, so it's not too late to change my mind. I'm sure somebody else will be glad to go with her. Besides, since when have you and I followed the rules? I say we do this our own way. No pretend dates or whatever it is we think we're supposed to be doing; just the two of us having a good time, as usual."

"You don't have to do this, you know," Harold said uneasily. "I'd understand if you wanted to seize your chance to take a nice girl out to the dance and to have your parents take lots of pictures of your matching outfits and all. I bet they'd be very proud to hang them around the house and show them to the whole extended family. Plus, you know how rumors spread like a deadly fart in our school. I might ruin your chances with the ladies for the next decade at least, all just for one day. I don't want you to change your plans just for me and to regret it later."

George, whose knees were getting sore from kneeling on the hard wood floor, used the side of the hammock to pull himself up, making it sway a little.

"First off, I ain't about to regret anything that's to do with you, and second, I'm offering it 'cause I want to. As my best buddy in the whole wide world, it's only natural that you always come first. I may not... feel the exact same way that you do, but I still love you, man. If it has to be a choice between you or anybody else, then _of course_ you're the one I'm gonna go with! Just as long as that's okay with you."

"Of course." A fragile grin spreading across Harold's face. "Yeah, I'd love to."

"So that's settled, then. We're gonna have so much fun!" George clapped his palms and rubbed them together like a winning businessman. "And this will actually make it much easier to sneak off and put our scheme into motion. We won't have to worry about leaving anyone hanging in the meantime."

"True!" Harold swung his legs over the side of the hammock. "Got any ideas what we could do aside from messing up the playlist? I already have a few, starting with stuff to put into the punch bowl, if there's one. Oh, and if we could get the fire sprinklers to..."

"Hold that thought! We need to make a list!" George ran to the corner where he had last seen pencils and paper, turning on a lamp on his way.

-

The boys spent the next hour brainstorming and writing down their ideas on some of the blank paper sheets they kept in industrial quantity, losing track of time in the process. Only when they heard George's mother calling his name did they realize that it was already completely dark outside.

"Aww, snap! Sorry, I gotta go." George hurriedly finished scribbling on the sheet he was bent over and then got up to gather the others he had used, which were scattered on the floor.

"Me too." Harold began dumping all of his colored pencils into their case. "I think my curfew was about half an hour ago."

They both finished putting their things away and headed toward the treehouse entrance.

"Hey, George?"

The latter stopped where he was standing at the top of the ladder and turned toward his friend. "Yeah?"

"I just wanna say thanks. For being there, you know, listening to me and all. I'm so glad you're not bothered by, well..."

"Of course not," George promptly assured him. "What kind of friend would I be if I got offended over something like that? Thank you for sticking with me too. You could've resented me for not feeling quite the same way and I don't know what I would've done."

Harold cast a quick glance outside. "Before we go, can we make a promise to never let anything ruin our friendship?"

"Sure. We already did something like that when we first got separated at school, but I guess two years later ain't too early to renew our friendship vows."

"Okay, great!" Harold started raising his right hand, but got interrupted before he could decide what to do with it.

"Hold on. You're not about to spit, are you?" asked George suspiciously, remembering how it had played out last time. "'Cause if you don't mind, I'd rather we just like, maybe shook hands meaningfully or something."

"They do it all the time in movies!" Harold defended himself, dropping his hand. "Either that or a blood oath, but that one looks painful."

"Yeah, nope, we're still not doing that either. You know I'd give you my blood in a heartbeat if you needed it, but I doubt anything like that would be safe outside of a sterile environment. Are we even the same blood type?"

"I'm not actually sure what mine is." Harold shrugged. "Now that you mention it, it does seem unhygienic and potentially dangerous. A regular handshake doesn't feel very solemn, though."

"How about this?"

George came to plant himself in front of Harold and placed his hand on his companion's opposite shoulder. He waited for his friend to mirror his position and then cleared his throat.

"On this day, I, George Beard, solemnly vow to be a friend you can count on through the good times and the bad, from this moment on and for the rest of our lives. I will fully accept and appreciate you the way you are, for everything you are, as I have since the day we first met, and I will be true to you. The bond we share is sacred and permanent. Therefore, I swear to do whatever it takes to never let our friendship fade, or anything come between us. And should we ever have to part ways, neither time nor distance, or anything else that may threaten to drive us apart, will ever change what we mean to each other. Best friends for life."

George stayed still after he finished, his eyes fixed expectantly on the ones facing him, feeling more determined than he had ever been in his life. Harold was the first to move, barely an inch as though afraid to ruin the moment.

"Wow. You were right, this is better than mixing bodily fluids. I just wish I'd learned my lesson and thought of preparing a decent speech in advance for this kind of occasion, but it's only fair since you didn't either, so uh..." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Alright. I, Harold Hutchins, declare that whatever the future holds, you will always have a devoted friend in me. I swear to be there for you through the years whatever may come and, no matter how our feelings may or may not change with time, one thing that never will is the special place you hold in my heart. I promise not to let anything damage our friendship and to work every day on keeping it strong. Best friends forever."

The solemn mood lingered for a few more seconds, before both boys visibly relaxed and retracted their hands.

"Well, there you go," said George, beaming up. "Can't get any more official than that, can it?"

"I think it'll do," Harold chuckled, his eyes bright and crinkling at the corners. "I'll let you go now, before your mom comes up to get you."

"Right! It's good enough that she lets me stay outside till past sunset even on week days now. Better not push our luck."

Harold made his way to the window in the back, under which a large tree branch stretched over the fence and into his own backyard. "See you tomorrow morning, same as usual?"

"Yeah. Same as usual," George confirmed. He pulled the tattered curtain aside and started climbing down the ladder. "Goodnight, Harold."

He raised his head just in time to see his friend wave goodbye from where he sat on the window sill and hop down on the other side.

-

A good night it would be, indeed, now that a potential crisis had been averted. As he got ready for bed, George could not help thinking how easily things could have turned sour between his best friend and himself that evening, and yet here they were after that whole serious conversation, still as close as ever if not even more.

Rolling onto his back to conjure up various scenes of heroic feats all across the silver screen provided by the darkened ceiling of his bedroom, George gradually saw them morph into images of a potential adult version of himself, sporting now a funny haircut and sport sunglasses, now a full-grown beard that did his last name justice, only to finally settle on just sideburns.

An older Harold materialized next to his imaginary future self, his golden hair the same unruly mess as ever, but the lower half of his face now sprinkled with light stubble. This new apparition flashed his companion the characteristic ingenuous grin George could never refuse anything to and tossed him a soda can. They sat down casually on either side of an enormous bowl of popcorn to watch some big budget movie.

George blinked and the moving pictures rewinded back in time to their first year at school, when they barely knew each other but already could tell they had found a kindred spirit for life. In the dark, his eyes followed his tiny self with an afro the size of a small planet, who was whipping his tie around like a weapon as he boldly advanced on the much taller bullies he had caught picking on the lonely kid nextdoor. The next moment, the two boys were both giggling and whispering conspiratorially throughout a soporific astronomy lesson that had unexpectedly taken a hilarious turn, their eyes sparkling with the realization that they were no longer alone.

A string of memories from the six following years succeeded each other in George's mind eye : their first collaboration on a comic book project, the countless pranks they had played on their teachers, the unbelievable adventure that had resulted from their principal's transformation into Captain Underpants, building snow forts in winter, the summer vacation breaks and the long days of pure fun they brought along, the sleepovers in the treehouse on week-ends...

Time rolled by in another blink of an eye, transporting the boys a few years into the future. Their teenage selves were hanging out at the skatepark, Harold loudly cheering on a bunch of guys who were demonstrating their skills further away as the two best friends sat side by side at the top of the highest ramp. Feeling daring, George jumped onto his board and attempted a flip, only to trip and land hard onto his back. Before his head had even stopped spinning, the worried face of his pal was above him, along with an outstretched hand reaching down to pull him back onto his feet.

The scene changed again. The boys, now young men who looked old enough to be attending college, were in a room that looked like a blend between an office and an upgraded version of their treehouse, most likely some sort of personalized working space in a shared apartment. George was pacing around, brow creased in concentration as he threw ideas out loud, his nose buried in a notebook full of drabbles and scribbles. Meanwhile, Harold was spinning the swivel chair he occupied in quarter-circles behind a desk littered with papers and markers, voicing his approval of several story elements and coming up with suggestions of his own. Every once in a while, he would lower his head to take notes or to make a quick sketch, to which his companion would respond with unrestrained enthusiasm. On the coffee table nearby lay a few comic books that looked a lot like refined versions of their early _Captain Underpants_ issues.

Presently, George found himself staring at an adult Harold, whose wild curls had been slightly trimmed and for once almost tamed into something presentable to match the formal presentation of the black tuxedo he was wearing. This version of his friend greeted his double with a nervous smile. An equally sharply dressed, all-grown-up George gave him a reassuring nod, before locking arms with him and leading him down a nicely decorated aisle, visibly as his... best man?

Back to the present, George felt doubt insinuate itself into his mind as he mulled over these visions. Who could say what the future had in store? Harold's feelings might come to change, after all the intensity and confusion of adolescence, and revert back to the purely brotherly sort of affection the two had shared until recently. Perhaps, on the contrary, they would persist long after that and bring about their fair share of angst and drama, until the artist eventually met the one he was truly meant to build a life with, and then the old duo would somehow manage to remain close despite each having a family of their own to care for. Or maybe, just maybe, as their friendship kept growing stronger with time, George would see his own feelings evolve in unexpected ways and there would be no need for a groom to give his dearest friend over to.

A thousand scenarios could unfold in completely divergent ways, none of them holding any certainty, but George and Harold would have plenty of time later to adjust to whichever possibility may arise further down the road. They still had several years of innocence to enjoy before the time came to make important, life-changing decisions. For now, they were just kids and they had lots of more pressing matters to address, like how to make the end of their final year of elementary school truly memorable for all of their classmates, whom they may or may not see again over the course of the following years. They would take life one day at a time and make the most of every moment they had the chance to spend together.

As George felt his eyelids grow heavy, he found comfort in the promise he and Harold had made to be transparent with each other and to actively work on nurturing their bond, whatever form it may take. It was relieved and hopeful that he fell asleep that night, to dreams of the countless fun times he and his best friend would surely know throughout many more years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was it. I want to thank my readers for giving this little one-shot a chance. I hope you liked it, but whether you did or not, please feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> Oh, and just one last thing. I noticed that one or several other anonymous writer(s) had also posted fics for this fandom, but as far as I'm concerned, this is the only one I've submitted here so far. I just wanted to clear up any risk of confusion so as not to take credit for stories that aren't mine.
> 
> EDIT:  
> Many thanks to all those who have left kudos on this fic! I really appreciate it. :)  
> Also a big virtual hug to my reviewers, who have left me such wonderful feedback. You guys have really made my day and left me smiling like a total idiot. Once again, thank you so much!! <3


End file.
